Refuse To Go Deeper
by wirewrappedlily
Summary: The story of Little Red Riding Hood has been perverted over time. The reality was much different. Sterek: Rating subject to change with minimal to no notice read: rating is totally going to change, writer has a potty mouth
1. Intro: This Trouble Shouldn't Be Mine

Once upon a time, before accurate history was kept; when magick and monsters were more revered than feared, there lived a powerful sect of creatures not-quite-human. The Red Hoods were the most powerful creatures the earth had ever given birth to, denoted by their bright colours and boisterous attitude.

Above all, the Red Hoods believed in the power of love. They were peaceful, happy creatures, even in the darkest of times. Vibrant and alive, even in the face of death and pain, the Red Hoods would fight only for love: and then still, they fought with compassion, mercy, and honour. Love was the greatest force in the world; friendships and family were above all, and romantic love was pure, always. First loves mated for life, and they would live their lives through happily.

Red Hoods were born to humans and humans were born of Red Hoods; the earth chose where the magick went, who was blessed with the power, and that was fair. Men and women who wanted the power, lusted after it, were less inclined to worm their way into the lives of the Red Hoods for that reason.

Of course, that didn't mean the men and women lusting after their power didn't still try to take it from them.

The Red Hoods were thought weak and easy prey to anyone willing to be ruthless and retched. But, as always, the earth provided: wolves, fierce and loyal and protective of their charges, were sent to protect the Red Hoods from the warlords that would kill them for spreading peace through their lands.

The wolves lived peacefully with their chosen charges, bonded to their families happily, a trust sparked between them that ran soul-deep.

One day, an elderly woman came to the valley that the Red Hoods had made their home in. Every wolf growled at her, warning their families away. But a young woman, the youngest daughter of the ruling family of Red Hoods, befriended her, showed her kindness; convinced that kindness was the key to summoning peace once and for all.

It was on the night of a full moon that the girl, Stella, set out for the old woman's cottage with a basket of remedies for her aging body.

Upon her arrival, Stella was attacked, her scream summoning her wolf; a great, black beast with eyes so blue they would flash electric in the light of the moon. He burst through the old woman's door and tore her throat out with his teeth, protecting his charge.

But it was the blow the warlords had been waiting for to make their attack.

Claiming the wolves a menace, the warlords flooded the valley, striking out to take every wolf captive. Within a month, the village was burning as Stella ran to her wolf, summoning all the power she had.

Stella turned the wolf she loved into a man, urging him to make an escape; promising him that they would be together, that she would find her way back to him. His first breath as a man was used to tell her that he loved her, and so long as he lived, he would never give up; he'd hold her to her word.

With one kiss, he was sent away, the new moon painting the world far blacker than it would've, a shroud of smoke in the air from his burning home, to keep him safe.

By the first full moon, he watched from afar in horror so acute it was a sickness as Stella and her people burned for their "crimes", for protecting their wolves. That night, consumed with grief, anger, and pain, he turned his back on the human Stella had brought out of him, shifting his form into the wolf once more, to howl his agony at the bright, bulbous moon.

There was never such power in any creature as there had been in the Red Hoods; but the earth was simply waiting. Waiting as time and lives passed; bringing Stella and her wolf back together again, and tearing them apart when their love was fought against and abused between them. Waiting until Stella could find her wolf; find him and love him as she was meant to-until Stella's wolf could love her as he'd known he always would.

Stiles Stilinski had no idea why he chose a red hoodie.

He had no idea why he yearned to protect the wolf that had threatened his death.

Derek had no clue what drew him into staying.

There was no logical reason why Derek threw himself so willingly between the boy and danger.

They refused to figure out that they'd been born again and again; that they'd suffered and died, bled and killed for each other.

They couldn't figure out what drew them together.

But if they fought it too hard, it would tear them apart.

* * *

**A/N: So I wrote something for a friend of mine on Tumblr and, in a moment of artist pride that should never have been bourn, I sent it to another friend of mine as well. Both adored it, and this was born. Check out thegrumpiestwolf on Tumblr because she's the one that started me on this ship. Also, her recs are orgasmic. No lie. **

**TTFN, lovelies. More soon.  
**


	2. Interlude: Heartlines

The first time Laura saw the little boy with the melted chocolate eyes, his palms were glowing.

No, that's wrong, actually: His palms weren't simply glowing-his palms were full to spilling over with liquid light, and there was a tiny golden bird slowly growing from the strange substance welling in his palms. His mother took his hand, stifling the light spilling over the sides, and bent down to hiss at him that he couldn't do that here; that was a secret that not even daddy knew about.

Laura didn't know what made her feel like the little boy belonged over with her and Derek more than he belonged being led away by the sickening woman, but she guessed it had to do with the secret. She and Derek knew all about secrets, though they were allowed to show their dad. Laura tugged on Derek's arm, trying to get her little brother's attention before she harrumphed and had to do it again, Derek's eyes glued on the woman and the little boy. Laura pulled him into a hug for no good reason.

It was about a week before the fire before she saw the boy again. He was bigger, a dreamy look in his eyes that didn't quite read right. Laura followed his line of sight and saw the girl-Lydia, if he was talking about her and not the one beside her-he was talking to some kid that didn't quite breathe right, from what she could hear. The kid flinched slightly, turning to his friend and touching his arm. No one, not even the kid would've seen the little gold flash of light that passed through his fingertips, but no one had Laura's eyes. The kid's friend breathed easier, and Laura had to wonder if the boy even knew that he'd just healed his friend.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the boy's melted chocolate eyes slowly raised up, looking past everything between them, towards her. He couldn't see her, there was no way he could, she was too far away for most people to be able to focus, but the moment their eyes would've met, Laura felt like she'd been struck by lightning.

Flashes of the worst nightmare she'd ever been trapped in played over the bright, sunny day that her open eyes were living in, and Laura felt like the bottom had just dropped out of the world, and she was suspended in those breathless moments before the plummet. There was fire and screams, and Laura felt loss like she was being torn in two. _You can't stop it._

Laura's vision cleared, leaving her gasping slightly for air, and she had to run; she had to get home, to see her house standing and her family in it. She left her friends in confusion, just moments before she would've seen her baby brother staring after Kate Argent with the same dreamy look that didn't quite fit right.

She can't shake it, and her own body seems to fight against her when she tries to warn her parents; her Uncle Peter; anyone. She can't talk, and it feels like she's coming down with a fever every time she tries.

So she resolves to do what little she can. She gathers things. Things that remind her most of her family, things they wouldn't want lost in the fire, because she's going to find a way to save them. Even if she has to drag them all out herself, she will save her family.

Every night for a week she waited, until she starts to think that, maybe, it was just...some sort of weird fluke. She swallowed the guilt of everyone looking for some of their favourite, most prized possessions, and resolves to slip them back out of where she's hidden them. She goes out with Derek that night, and they become the worst kind of orphans. Laura didn't have it in her to ask why the hell Derek started drowning in his own guilt; she's too busy drowning in her own.

She leaves the trunk there, the wound open and bleeding even years later, and she tries to forget.

When she returned to Beacon Hills six years later, the boy was in a cloud of old, stale sorrow and guilt. He was a bundle of raw nerves and a crackle of power that Laura knew meant he didn't use what had been given him anymore. She frowned, taking in the uneasy sense of strength around him; the way the air seemed to be both protective and almost destructive around him. It was like the boy was tied to lightning, striking everywhere and laying him to waste at the same time it revived him. Maybe it was more like Stiles _was_ lightning.

She looked into his melted-chocolate eyes and saw the storm that was coming; saw the bloodlust and the violence and the insatiable hunger for revenge that she just didn't have it in her to feel. Laura wanted to keep them safe; whatever that boy saw, whatever he made her see, it was willing to tear the world apart to try to take just the edge off of its thirst.

Laura dug up the trunk and put it somewhere else before she really knew what getting torn in two felt like. And half of her was buried where she'd buried the trunk, under a spiral of revenge.

There was a lot of things Laura wished she could've done then. Being dead kind of gave you the time to really look back, as she hadn't allowed herself to.

She looked back now, though. Derek was in pain, worse than anything she could conceive of, that much she knew. True, he'd never been a social creature, but it was like he was holding his pain and his anger in front of him; a sword and a shield. He bled and he fought, and Laura was dying to help him, but there was no way she could.

Not until she followed him into the backyard one day, and caught two teenagers looking for an inhaler that Derek had in his pocket. She listened to them talking and liked Stiles immediately, laughing at the storm cloud of grumpiness Derek drew into, as he had in the face of everything that could make him feel less like he'd lost his family. Laura glanced from her Captain Grumpypants to the boy, and she suddenly knew that those melted-chocolate eyes were going to be the things that yanked her little brother out of his pain, she'd just have to give it time, to wait and watch.

There was a woman-the boy's mother, if Laura remembered correctly-standing behind him, and Laura was taken aback as she smiled in greeting, _Hello_.

_Hi. I'm-uh, I'm Laura Hale. I'm Mr. Grumpy's big sister._

The woman laughed, and she looked like Stiles._ I'm Stiles's mother, Cara._

Derek was scaring the boys off, but Laura could hear his heartbeat going, could feel him shifting and changing in a human way. Laura looked back to Stiles and caught Cara's laughing eyes, _They're…_

_They're going to be fighting like cats and dogs. _

_True love usually starts that way, doesn't it?_

Cara grinned, _So I'm told._

That night, Laura found herself in Stiles's dreams, which could've been much worse than it actually was, she knew. He's sitting at a hospital bed, staring at the empty sheets, and she gets the sense that this is something she shouldn't be doing, but she does it anyway, putting a hand on his shoulder, bringing his chocolate eyes around to look at her. "She's safe, you know."

His thick fringe of eyelashes flutter slightly as he looks away, "Derek isn't."

"No, he isn't. Neither are you or Scott."

"I don't want-" he cuts himself off, sighs, "I don't want to be what I am."

"What are you?"

"I don't know. All I know is I keep seeing these things and I want them to stop."

"You saw me die." Stiles nods, "You know who killed me?" He shakes his head, "I have no right to ask a favour of you, but would you mind keeping Derek alive for me?"

"I want to."

"But you're scared?"

He looks back up at her, "Wouldn't you be?"

"There's something I have for him...something I kept from the fire-"

"If I show him; if I tell him, he'll kill me. He hates me."

Laura snorts, "He hates himself." She sits on the bed, and catches a brief glimpse of the woman who was in that bed, dying, "Stiles-"

"I'll keep him as safe as I can, Laura. I promise you."

"Keep yourself safe, Stilinski." She calls to him, but he's already waking up.

Laura spent a lot of time watching over her little brother, Cara and she standing there, gasping and shrieking and cheering for their boys; crying for them; and then she heard the worst secret Derek could possibly have kept from her.

Kate Argent licked up his abs, and Laura screamed.

_He was a child._ A voice very much like Stiles's snapped at her, snapped through her, _He was young and easily swayed and he didn't know better._

_He killed our family!_ Laura shrieked back, and a feeling like lightning lashed through her, blunt and burning with a hum of sheer force.

_You look at him, Laura Hale! You look into his eyes right this second and _**see**. Derek's jaw was set, his mouth a tight line as his eyes slowly fluttered and lifted into the spotlight they had pointed at him, defiance set in every line of his face; a fight that took Laura's breath away. _He's been caged; chained and tortured by someone he'd trusted once, someone who's burned him and his family, his pack, literally and figuratively. He's been broken. He's been bleeding for years; because he was the one that gave Kate a way in. But the thing is, even chained and tortured and screaming in agony, Derek has the burn, the drive, the wild urge to keep fighting. Someone who hates himself as much as Derek does...well, it takes a special kind of person not to give in to the pull of a high fall, a noose, or a bullet._ _He's been abandoned by fate and a stupid mistake and he has no one, really, but here and now; in this one moment, that one clench of pain that he's biting through and tearing apart, he's going to keep fighting; he's going to turn around and walk right into the flames of hell again; because for him it isn't enough to keep going. For Derek, it's not about just guilt and grief-he thinks he caused this mess, and he'll be damned again before he lets any innocent fall because of what he did, ever, ever again._

Laura gasped in all the air she could, pain flaring through her as she met her brother's eyes, though he could only see through her._ He was an innocent, Laura. None of this-__**none of it**__-was his fault._

Tears fell down Laura's cheeks as she breathed, and felt for the first time like she was breathing easy since she'd met Stiles's eye and seen the fire all those years ago. _I'm sorry._ She breathed, _I'm so sorry, deartháir leanbh. _

The power slackened around her, and Laura watched as gold seemed to just slightly sheen around her brother, like the light that had shone from Stiles's palms as a little, little boy. One of the manacles fell off of Derek's wrists, and Laura breathed easier.

Cara watched her son and Derek in silent amusement until one night, they looked at each other, and all Laura heard was a small "oh" as Cara began to grow brighter and blur at the edges, _He has someone else to take care of him now._ She says by way of explanation, and Laura knows what she means: Stiles cares for everyone else before himself; he needed someone to watch over him, and Cara had. But now it was time for Cara to move on, because Derek...Derek would be the one to watch over Stiles. Derek would be the one to put him first; to care most, no matter how much neither of them would want to admit it yet. Laura stared at them after Cara faded, thinking hard on what was keeping her here.

She wondered if she'd ever see the day when Derek's pain would go from a constantly-fresh wound to a mostly-healed scar.

Hell: Laura would be happy if he'd just stop bleeding.


	3. Chapter 1: Confusing My Existence

Stiles groaned as he flopped sideways across his bed, closing his eyes and groaning again, more insistently, as the aches of Gerard's beating panged through him.

Scott hadn't even noticed his bruises, and it wasn't like Derek would've cared. Gerard hadn't picked correctly for a message to the pack.

His body wanted to sleep; his mind couldn't help but bring up the image of that empty warehouse floor where Gerard's body should've been.

Stiles shouldn't have been surprised when his window slid open, but a canister of white ash mace was in his hand and pointed at the werewolf slipping through his window. Derek shot him a look, worried and sharp, sliding the window shut behind him as Stiles lowered the canister with a slight shake in his hand. Derek locked the window behind him, turning to Stiles and leaning against the sill, "Did Deaton cook that up for you?"

"He helped, but it was my idea."

A muscle twitched in Derek's jaw, "What happened tonight?" he asked quietly, his voice strained and tight.

"You were there just as much as I was, sourwolf." Stiles sighed, setting his weapon back under his pillow.

"Stiles...Erica and Boyd were attacked by a pack of alphas-" Stiles made a small, broken noise, and Derek flinched at the sound, "but Erica told me...that they'd been captured by Gerard first. And that you were there."

Stiles squared his shoulders, getting himself prepared for the impending fight. "Gerard took me after the lacrosse game to use me as a message to you and Scott. It was a miscalculation on his part, because neither of you care."

Derek snarled at him, flashing his eyes red as he crossed to Stiles's side, his hands iron-strong around his arms, but careful not to bruise, "What did he do to you?" Derek's anger was coming off of him in waves, and Stiles felt like he was lightheaded and so exhausted that he might have passed out if Derek wasn't pinning him to a proverbial wall, "Stiles, _what did he do_?"

"He just...he hit me. That's all." Derek's hands released him, moving up from his arm to his chin, angling his face and stroking his thumb close enough to Stiles's skin for the heat to register without an actual touch, no twinge of pain. Derek examined the mark across his cheek, eyes soft.

"Your father saw the wounds?" Stiles nodded, and Derek's mouth tightened with annoyance, "Then I can't heal them, but I can take the pain away…" Derek's hand connected with his cheek, and Stiles gasped, trying not to flinch under the contact of Derek's hand. The pain soothed at the touch, though, and Stiles felt like he was going to collapse. "What's-Why are you so out of it, what happened?" The urgency in Derek's voice matched the urgency in his eyes, and Stiles felt oddly safe all of a sudden.

"I'm just...tired…"

"Stiles?"

"Hyper-vigilance. I have something called hyper-vigilance. I can't sleep."

"When did this start?"

"After the police station with the kamina." Stiles's voice was limp, half-gone already.

Derek used his grip on Stiles to get him down on the bed, checking him over carefully, "Close your eyes."

Stiles couldn't force himself not to obey, his eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks. Stiles's mouth went slack as Derek carefully went over Stiles, checking for more injury. Derek took a seat in Stiles's computer chair, watching him sleep sadly. The weight of the world that perpetually rested on Derek's shoulders settled this on his conscious, too. Stiles's slack body, curling in on itself slowly as he murmured and twitched in his sleep.

Derek slipped back out of the window as the sun rose, worn thin with too much time for thought. Stiles didn't need the pain this was putting him through; he didn't deserve the weight of their lives. Derek went to Scott's, finding him sitting at his computer as Derek slipped through the window and slammed him against the opposite wall faster than Scott's senses could track, letting his fangs run out and his eyes bleed red with rage, but it wasn't about the betrayal, not just. Scott was meant to be Stiles's best friend, and he hadn't even bothered to notice that he was hurt. Scott was supposed to keep Stiles safe and he'd gotten Stiles kidnapped and beaten.

Derek left Scott on the floor of his bedroom, maimed more with the knowledge of what he'd done than actually, physically hurt. It still earned him a visit from Stiles the day after, bruise-like bags under Stiles's eyes again, and Scott trailing him, trying to diffuse Stiles's anger.

"You _shouldn't_ have told him!"

"He should've _asked_!"

Stiles swayed on his feet more the longer they yelled at each other, and Derek found himself catching Stiles before he hit the ground, heaving him upright against him while mentally cursing everything in Heaven and Earth.

Scott was panicking, "Stop it. Go get Deaton." Derek snapped, lifting Stiles all the way off the floor, picking him up easily, and Scott, the idiot, was looking at him in awe rather than running into the Jeep and doing what he was told, "Go. Get. Deaton!"

Scott scampered, Derek grunting as he carried Stiles easily inside, laying his limp body down. He was too still; too pale and fragile against Derek's couch cushions. Derek reached for his wrist even though he could clearly hear Stiles's heart beating, angry all over again at the whole situation.

Scott called, reported that Deaton had said that Derek could do more for Stiles than he could, and that he'd ordered Scott not to pick Stiles back up to take him home. Derek growled, but agreed; letting Stiles out of his sight wasn't an option; he couldn't bring himself to even think about it. Instead, he gathered Stiles up himself and took him to Stiles's house, to Stiles's bed. He very nearly hated the way Stiles clung to him for a moment in his sleep, and he shook himself; Stiles was a measly teenager. He's breakable and scrawny and his only strength was his mind-which Derek did not hesitate in questioning, given Stiles's propensity to not _run the fuck away_. Stiles whimpered in his sleep, and Derek turned from Stiles's desk in a heartbeat, whirling to face a threat, his instincts cracking through the tight control that he'd always had. It was like nothing Derek had ever felt before. It almost overrode him, the urge to _protect_. But it wasn't limited to protect; it wasn't about pack or family or safety or anything else. It was just...it was there, and Derek didn't know why.

Stiles whined in the back of his throat, a nightmare written on his face rather than a danger Derek could actually fight.

Derek drew the chair close to Stiles's bed, huffing through his nose angrily as he sat-and Stiles stopped broadcasting panic, stopped radiating fear. Something deep inside of Derek that he didn't even know was tense managed to ease.

If Derek strayed too far for a minute, Stiles would react to his lack of presence, and Derek found himself very, very invested in keeping close, in making sure Stiles got the sleep his body so desperately needed. He sat at the end of Stiles's bed, surrounded by the smell of the lacrosse field, that damn Jeep, and beeswax, for some reason. It was the scent of Stiles. It reminded him of Laura and her candles. After the fire, Laura had started buying beeswax candles, staring at the flame for a moment after lighting one every time, and, for the first few months, Laura would blow it back out before walking away. He knew then that it was a fear thing. Fire had taken everything from them; but she couldn't let the grief and fear and pain rule her. She had to make her peace with it, and she had to make sure he did, too.

The thing about torture, Derek knew himself, was that for it to really be effective, it wouldn't just simply be mental. And while he doubted Gerard really worked or came up with anything for Stiles specifically, he also could figure out that that might have been the worst part about it. Stiles, for all his strength and all his determination, was entirely too human. To be taken like that; to be put on display and forced, in front of people stronger than him who he'd protected with his life, that he was weaker than they were, that he couldn't fight for himself against Gerard Argent, was quite possibly the most crippling blow Gerard could've dealt to Stiles. Stiles who ran with wolves and didn't ask for special treatment; just took what he got and kept going like it was natural for a human boy to hold his own and more against everything he'd seen. It made Derek seethe to think about it; to think about how Stiles must have felt, how broken he must've become as Gerard had hit him and he hadn't been able to fight back.

"You aren't the weak link, Stiles." He murmured, watching the boy sleep and sigh and dream hopefully of being safe and being happy, "You, of all of us, might actually be the strongest." That, with so many things he told Stiles as he slept, would never be heard in the daylight hours. But Derek promised himself that he'd show it; he'd let Stiles be pack and run with them, and he'd be damned before trying to deny him a place again. Stiles, more than anyone else, had earned it.

And wasn't that a kick in the chest? Derek had spent so much time mistrusting Stiles; trying to protect him but not care about him, that now Stiles was the one that Derek knew he could really trust. He'd known from the moment he'd smelled new werewolf on Scott and the kick in the vicinity of his gut (heart) still made him walk away at the sight of Stiles. He couldn't afford to know Stiles at all; couldn't let him get anywhere near him. And then Stiles did anyway. Stiles threw himself bodily into Derek's life, and now Derek was paying for it with a soul-deep _need_ to kill Gerard Argent completely and a damn near toxic worry that Stiles living this life would kill him. It affected him; and the more Derek let himself realize that, the more Derek knew that he couldn't do this; couldn't let Stiles see this in him.

Derek sighed, sitting back against the end of Stiles's bed just so that he couldn't see him. He closed his eyes, gritting his teeth and snapping his head back against the baseboard, just hard enough to hurt without it jostling the bed enough to wake Stiles.

Still, Stiles moaned in his sleep; the high, distressed sound hitting Derek in his gut (heart) all over again.

By dawn, Derek had fallen asleep at the foot of Stiles's bed, his leather jacket sticking to his cheek and the floorboards imprinting on his skin.

Somewhere in those early hours, Stiles woke him just enough to help pull himself up and stumble into the bed that was simply awash in the scent of Stiles. Derek found himself groaning and curling into a pillow absolutely thick with Stiles's scent, and he breathed deeply once before the sensation of blankets being drawn up over his back and a hand comforting and warm between his shoulder blades and skimmed quickly through his hair take him away again, far, far too relaxed.

Derek woke with Stiles sitting where he had been the night before; coffee cup in hand and one awaiting him on the bedside table.

"I have a really awkward favour to ask you, it seems," Stiles sighs, looking downright glum.

Derek took a heavenly sip of the coffee, and he felt...lighter with the morning than he had in years, "I'm staying here at night, at the very least until we deal with Gerard." Derek told him in a voice that brooked no argument, "If the...hyper vigilance gets any better after he's been dealt with, you can go back to the disdain and repulsion you usually feel for me, but until then, I made this mess in your life; I'll do anything I can to clean it up." Stiles went dead still, staring at him, and Derek could almost see the thoughts chasing themselves around in Stiles's head, but he couldn't make out the shape of them. Stiles's whole body seemed to flinch as he tore his eyes away from Derek's, taking a sip of coffee that was creamed and sugared into being more candy than caffeine.

"I...I am not your mess to clean up-"

"You're not the mess I'm trying to clean, that is between you and your god."

Stiles's eyes flashed as he turned his gaze back up to Derek's, "That was very nearly humorous, Derek. Careful, or your whole brooding, bad boy mystique might just crack and crumble." Stiles's voice went for playful and fell several yards short, "You haven't done or caused anything, Derek. This all comes down to Peter." Stiles glowered at his toes in their striped socks, and Derek finds himself sitting opposite Stiles, trying to catch his eye.

Derek couldn't tell him that Peter killed Laura, but he caused him to; he killed the rest of their family. He couldn't tell Stiles that it was sheer instinct to defend; to protect, that had him slashing Peter's throat before he could begin to heal again. The scent of blood, even if it wasn't Stiles's own, all over Stiles's clothes and the lingering reek of Stiles's very distinct fear on Peter's clothes. That night had twisted something Derek refused to so much as acknowledge the existence of. Even psychotic and murderous, Peter had been family, and it was something Derek had so precious little of. Then none. Derek couldn't tell Stiles any of this. He just hoped that Stiles would know and understand anyway.

Stiles didn't raise his eyes to meet Derek's, but he did nod just slightly, his tongue lashing out over his lips quickly. "Thank you." He breathed, almost inaudible even to Derek's ears, and Derek actually felt a stab of guilt that he couldn't bring himself to kill his uncle twice. "And I don't...You aren't repulsive." Stiles swallowed, his eyes finally raising to Derek's, "I never meant to make you feel like that."

Derek's brow furrowed, as if the concept that Stiles actually didn't hate him was the strangest thing he'd ever heard of. "Thanks for the coffee."

"O-oh...um...I might've made breakfast, too."

"What time is it?"

"Almost one." Stiles muttered, looking almost sheepish.

Derek nodded shortly, letting nothing show on his features, "Can't. Enjoy the pancakes."

"Snoopy waffles." Stiles corrected, completely oblivious to Saturday mornings with Laura growling at being woken up before noon to have a hot breakfast on the weekend and Derek being scolded for sitting in silence, watching his family and just smiling, enjoying the moment. And that just ached like part of him had been torn out all over again. It made it easy for him to be on his feet and out of Stiles's window before Stiles could break any part of him any worse than he'd already been broken.

Derek ran all the way to his burnt out shell of a house, but it wasn't anger pumping through him like it usually was. He was in _pain_. He hadn't felt it like this; hadn't ever experienced the brunt of the agony without the anger to temper it. He's spent a long, long time so blindly enraged at himself that it feels like another person, another life, since the bright mornings in the alcove by the kitchen, or the rainy days when he'd catch his father reading to his mother in the window seat. Stiles brought that out, though. Brought up the memory of Laura and Peter taking turns to brow beat him into watching those ridiculous cop shows that they both knew they'd hooked him on from the very first episode. Peter always made popcorn perfectly like it was a superpower, and Laura would rub his scalp until he fell asleep on her lap until he'd gotten too tall to fit lengthways on the couch. Peter would argue with Laura about what potential love-interests would end up together while Laura and his mother would both tease him for knowing what the plot would be before ten minutes had even passed in the story. "It's always the silent, observant ones…" His mother would sigh, "Don't just watch life, Derek; live it, too."

She'd kiss his forehead and hum a lullaby as she walked into the kitchen to make dinner, just a hint of worry in her scent, like she knew what was coming.

Stiles would have just that hint of worry sometimes, when he shoots what Derek's come to think of as a Last Look at Derek before traipsing off with Scott again.

Scott, that fucking idiot who got Stiles kidnapped and then left Stiles with the very werewolf who he'd betrayed, who could've been a danger to his best friend.

Derek didn't even want to think about Scott, but he had to get some answers from Deaton about what was happening to Stiles and what the hell he was thinking saying that Derek could do anything at all for Stiles.

Derek was almost to his burnt out shell of a house before he was hit around the chest hard enough to send him flying backwards into a tree, splintering it.

A tall, bulky blond man stepped out in front of him, hulking and smirking as his eyes flashed red: One of the Alphas.

"Derek Hale-"

"Stiles Stilinski." Stiles chirped, hopping out of the Jeep almost before it was stopped, "Human, with the pack, and son of the sheriff. You must be one of those big, bad alphas Derek mentioned." Derek was ready to rip Stiles's spine out through his throat, "But, see, since Derek's my Alpha, and he doesn't even scare me; you really, really don't scare me. So what's going to happen is this: You're going to walk away. Derek's going to get in the Jeep with me and I'm going to drive him to his house. You're going to talk to him when you haven't tried to break any of his ribs, when you're not going to try to kill him. It's going to be a polite conversation, about what the fuck it will take to get you out of our town. We're going to do this because I caught your assault on tape and I'm sure we could find some past indiscretions on your record. Walk away." Derek watched in shock as the blond snarled at his idiot-Stiles, and walked away. Stiles stooped, supporting his shoulders and half picking him up. "Come on, big guy." He grunted, his hand sliding over Derek's ribs, "Broken?"

"No…" Derek mumbled, distracted. He searched the treeline for a sign that that hadn't been as effective as it'd seemed to be. "What the hell were you thinking?!" Derek demanded, eyes flashing with rage, "He would've killed you-"

"Derek, he would've killed _you_." Stiles snapped, as if that had greater levity to him than his own life, "Say thank you and get in the Jeep."

"You're not even pack." Derek growled as Stiles yanked his door open. Stiles froze, hearing it, and his eyes went wide, enraged.

"You know what? Nevermind. Get your stupid ass killed." He snarled.

"Scott's not pack-"

"Scott's not pack, so I'm not pack?" Stiles turned on him, storming forwards, "That's bullshit, Derek, and you know it." Stiles ground out, voice tight and hurt.

"Scott's building his own pack-"

"I love Scott like my brother, but the day I depend on him to save my life is the day I lose it." Truer words may not have been spoken, Derek had to give him that.

"I have to trust you for you to be pack-"

"Bullshit, you trust no one. But you don't need to worry about me betraying you to Scott or whatever. He's...we haven't hung out in a while."

"What?"

"He's with Isaac now...or trying to win back Allison."

Stiles wouldn't meet his eyes, and Derek couldn't actually think of a reason not to call Stiles pack anymore: The boy was more pack than anyone, and he'd realized as much already. But hearing him say it...hearing him announce it, throwing his chips in with Derek and all his stupidity, it was ludicrous. It was the dumbest, most ridiculous thing Derek had ever heard. Stiles was supposed to be smart. "You're pack." Derek breathed, nodding slowly.

"I'd hug or high-five you or something celebratory, but I don't want to die." Stiles snorted, smirking to himself as he got in the Jeep, "C'mon, loser, we're going to get your stuff."

Derek scowled hard, but got in anyway, "Why are we-"

"You've got an Alpha pack after you, you need to hide somewhere they won't be able to find you or sniff you out. Scott tells me I've a very distinct smell, maybe mine can mask yours. You're staying with me anyway." Stiles shrugged. Derek heaved a sigh, but he had to admit, as far as plans went, it wasn't horrible. It probably wouldn't work, but it wasn't horrible. "House or depot?"

"I was headed for the house-"

"Ah, but if your stuff's in the train depot…"

Derek growled, completely disbelieving that he'd submitted to this, "The depot."

Stiles smirked, "So, pizza or Chinese tonight?"


	4. Chapter 2: Intruding My Mind

Stiles was a sleep-hugger. Of course, how Derek had ended up in his bed to be sleep-hugged to begin with was somewhat unclear. Stiles had dreamt of red fabric slipping through his fingers and nuzzling down into a wolf's warm fur in the middle of winter, only warm nearer the end. He woke up to find his face pressed in Derek's side, one of Derek's huge arms wrapped over his back. Stiles groaned quietly, the sound too squeaky , his lips twitching because he wasn't fully awake yet, not because Derek was cuddling him, no. Derek hummed slowly awake, his arms tightening around Stiles gently. Stiles took what he could get, tempted to fall back to sleep with Derek's body heat acting as his own, personal furnace. "We fell asleep…" Stiles squeaked, and Derek made a sound that was deep and rumbly and going down as a growl in the public record, but as a purr in Stiles's personal one. Derek's eyes fluttered back closed, and he relaxed further into the bed, not letting Stiles go or pushing him off in any way.

"I'm still tired." Derek murmured, his voice young, "Go back to sleep." Derek pressed into the cuddle then, like that's a thing that they did, and it really wasn't, but Stiles couldn't resist the idea of more sleep.

And then Scott burst through his bedroom window, and Derek had him pinned to the wall by the neck before Stiles could even leap out of his skin, reacting to the intrusion as a threat. Scott reacted to Derek's reacting and Stiles was not in the mood for this, he really wasn't, he'd just been getting the cuddle of his life, and now there was snarling and fangs. Stiles went for the air-horn he'd put in his school bag, wishing fervently it wouldn't hurt them, but knowing it would as he compressed the button and let the boom of sound startle the wolves out of their defensive crouches. Derek scowled at him like it hadn't been a necessary countermeasure from getting two pissed off werewolves from tearing into each other. "Are we quite done?" Stiles half-yelled, his eyes fiery as he glared at both wolves. He climbed over the bed on his knees until he could stand, scowling between Derek and Scott. "Now, Derek, let him go. Scott, do that again and I may just tase you. I am going to go downstairs and make coffee and breakfast. Scott, if you can't handle yourself, leave; Derek, you're not allowed to go anywhere for the time being-and if you start arguing, I will hit you at the cost of breaking my hands. We need to keep you off Alpha radar, because I am awesome, but I don't think one threat will keep them at bay for long." Stiles stomped his way to the bedroom door, turning back to the both of them with raised brows. Scott looked lost, like he wanted to follow Stiles and curl up around him; Derek looked like he wanted either to fling Scott or himself out of Stiles's open window. "Close the window if you're not leaving. Derek, c'mon."

Stiles led the way down the stairs like he knew for a fact Derek wouldn't leave, resisting feeling at all nervous or doubtful about it, because it wouldn't do to show that he wasn't as sure as he was projecting himself to be.

He was wondering whether bacon and eggs were a good choice or if they needed something quick and easy when Derek hissed from behind him. Stiles whirled, watching as Derek curled over on himself, pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb in pain. Stiles was next to him in a heartbeat, "Derek? Derek, fuck-what is it? Are you okay?!"

Derek heaved in a breath, his hand shaking slightly as he reached out to brace himself on Stiles's arm. Stiles stepped forwards, blocking off Scott's view from behind him, feeling a surge of protectiveness at the choked sound of pain that came out of Derek's throat. "'M…'m okay…" Derek managed, swaying slightly on his feet, "'s like it was with the dog whistle…" It didn't even occur to Stiles to make a joke or to ask about it, he looked behind him to Scott, who was perfectly fine if pissed off and bewildered.

"I'm doubting it's a dog whistle: what else could it be?" Derek shook his head in response, and he and Stiles started to move as one towards the kitchen table, Stiles levering him into a chair and kneeling in front of him. "Derek?"

Derek shook himself, clearing his throat and wincing. He blinked his eyes open, the red bleeding back out of his eyes. Stiles hadn't seen him so pale since the wolfsbane poisoning, and he didn't like it at all. "My head...it's just...I'm okay."

Stiles pressed his hand to Derek's forehead, distantly realizing his temperature, but more like he could ease the pain just by touching him. Derek looked up at him, eyes exhausted, but didn't comment.

Stiles took his hand away quickly, biting back awkwardness and trying to keep his tongue in check enough to ask if Derek wanted bacon and eggs, "That'd be nice." Derek answered, like Stiles had said it already-and maybe he had? "Are you usually this confused in the mornings? Of course you-" Derek stopped dead, eyes going wide. "Stiles, what's the most ridiculous thing you've ever seen Scott do?"

Immediately, Stiles thought of the time Scott dressed up as a rubber ducky, but that wasn't something he was about to share with-Derek was...laughing. There was no other term for it. His eyes had widened in disbelief, and he looked slightly panicked, but there was a chance he'd never laughed before, so that might've been understandable.

"I have laughed before!" Derek choked out finally, scowling, "And _why_ did he dress up in the ducky costume?" Because Melissa had had a pair of ducky scrubs and their ultimate demise was not pretty, causing an almost-irrational fear for Scott that lasted until Stiles stole a copy of _Death Becomes Her_ which gave them both nightmares for a month. "Meryll Streep hasn't aged since, it's a good reason to be afraid."

"You're reading my mind."

"I'm reading your mind." Derek agreed, though he didn't seem to be grasping quite how horrified he was supposed to be at the prospect. "Oh, no, I am panicking, trust me."

Stiles flashed through the wide ranges in which this was a bad thing; not the least of which was that Derek didn't like hearing him _talk_-hearing him think was going to be worse, if only for the fact that Stiles seriously couldn't shut up when it was his thoughts. He couldn't _stop_ _thinking_. The only time he'd ever heard of anyone able to stop thinking was either when they were getting rom-com kissed or dead. Stiles knew which option was likely chosen when it was Derek and him. And-oh, god-was it just his thoughts, or could Derek hear anyone? But-

"Stiles, please stop freaking out." Derek grumbled, his head back in the cradle of his hand, pain written on his features. "I don't know if it's just you, I'm figuring it only triggered a few minutes ago, and Scott's gone."

Stiles couldn't help the seething wave of anger that brought up, the first knee-jerk response being that Scott had abandoned him for greater and more glorious things. Derek could hear it, of course, before Stiles could summon his cover for it, and the look on Derek's face was uncomfortably suspicious when Stiles faced him finally.

"What's been going on with Scott, Stiles?"

"He...uh...he's made it plain that...you're the enemy, and I've sided with you. Peter and Isaac told him about the Alpha Pack, they've contacted him themselves, and he's blaming you. Again. Because he's a total dollophead." Stiles's voice tinged with anger, "Apparently my judgement doesn't rate as highly as your dislike of Allison."

Derek flinched as Stiles failed to tamp down the thought that, really, it was that he didn't matter to Scott anymore. "Why did the Alphas contact him?"

Stiles's brows raised, shifting slightly before he seemed to give it up on repressing the information, "They want him to be an Alpha. He's on the way to it."

Derek only nodded, "He lost his best asset. He's going to need you before the end." Stiles felt the need to go back upstairs and lie down again, to curl up with Derek quietly and just let his life wash away, and Derek reacted as if he could sense that urge, standing up and crossing to him quickly, wrapping him up in a hug. Stiles gasped, surprised, his arms flailing for a bare second before he wrapped them around Derek in return, "I think I can feel what you're feeling, too."

"That can't be good." Stiles murmured faintly. There was a lot that Derek didn't need or want to know about, if you asked Stiles. How Stiles felt about lying to his dad; how Stiles felt empty now with Lydia completely out of his reach; the small sear of fury he had for the entire situation in his life.

"I should leave." Derek murmured, his hand going to his head.

Stiles's eyes flashed, "It's not just me you're hearing anymore, is it?"

"Th-The whole block…"Derek mumbled, "Cats included; stay away from Bubbles."

"...God, I don't want to think about that." Stiles shuddered, "Derek, the scope's grown from the house to the block-that's very, very bad." Stiles took Derek's arms as he almost doubled over, bringing him into his arms for lack of anything else to do. Derek groaned shrilly, "Derek? Derek, we gotta get to the Jeep. We have to get you somewhere isolated-"

"'S more...too many."

"Shit. This is going way to quickly," Stiles breathed, slinging Derek's arm over his shoulders and hobbling as fast as he could to the front door, "just hold on. We're going to get you into the middle of the Preserve. With any luck, you wont' be able to read the trees." Stiles got him into the Jeep, buckling him in and running to the driver's side. "How the hell could I reverse this?"

Derek clutched his head, doubled over for most of the ride, "Stiles-"

"Derek, focus. I know you, of all people can: Focus on my thoughts, and mine alone." Stiles ordered harshly, his hand smacking into Derek's, giving him something physical to hold onto. Stiles forced his thoughts away from all hint of the fear of losing Derek, focussing instead on the determination and drive to make sure nothing happened to Derek.

"What the hell is that song?" Derek groaned.

Stiles snorted, "Just something stuck in my head. Is it helping?"

Derek's hand shifted around Stiles's, squeezing gently when Stiles nearly disengaged, "It is, actually. Just keep thinking." Derek jerked suddenly, his attention snapping out to the forest. "Pull over, something's wrong."

Stiles immediately jerked off the road, parking before fully stopping. "What is it?" Stiles snapped.

"The Alpha Pack. They're _here_. They're going attack the Jeep if we don't get out of here right now."

"Derek…" Stiles knew Derek and he would both die if he didn't do what Derek ordered him to; and he knew that Derek would at the very least want to die, if not actually succeeding to, if he went back to town. "I'm not going to watch you die." Stiles ground out.

"I'm not going to watch you die, either." Derek retorted, "I can focus on you, Stiles. I can do this, please." Derek almost sounded pleading, Stiles's chest aching at that. "I can't watch you die!"

Stiles grit his teeth, jerking the car and shrieking down the road, tires squealing as he drove as fast as he could. "Alright. Derek, where can I take you that would be safe from them?" Stiles immediately knew where, the image of the Sheriff flashing through Stiles's mind, and Derek wanted to resist it, biting down on it all. "Focus on me, Derek."

"Sometimes it's all I can do to focus on you, Stiles, this is just slightly more necessary." Derek ground out tightly, "What are you going to tell your dad?"

"You're not feeling well, you don't like doctors, and I just need to make sure you stay stable with a fever-perfectly werewolf-temperatured-and your shakiness. We can cover."

As they pulled into the parking lot, Derek gripped Stiles's hand, "Stiles, this…this could be dangerous."

Stiles snorted, but Derek pulled him in, wrapping an arm around him, "You're safe with me, big guy. And you keep me safe, too."

"I won't let you get hurt. I won't let them get hurt, either. " Derek rumbled.

"I trust you." Stiles told him.

Derek looked at him for a long moment, nodding slowly.


End file.
